Wei Anning was frozen, his supple lips pressed solidly against hers, with no pretense – he wasn't mocking her, he was truly kissing her.
Her hands, pulled apart by his, were pinned at her sides, and with no arms to block him, not a single gap remained between them.
She could even feel their heartbeats, her messiness, his composure.
The friction on her lips made her shudder all over; she couldn't let him do whatever he wanted any longer. She steeled her heart and bit down hard, the taste of blood instantly spreading between their lips and teeth.
Leng Youchen let go of her in pain, his gaze dark, his expression wickedly charming. A bead of blood emerged from his thin lips. He licked it with the tip of his tongue in a manner that was indescribably frivolous and seductive.
Anning's heart trembled. She averted her gaze to look at the archery target hanging on the wall of the gym, nearly every arrow hitting the bullseye, showing just how fierce the shooter was.
"Did you shoot those?"
